


What Could Go Wrong?

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Belly Kink, Breeding, F/F, Impregnation, Inflation, Other, Pregnancy, Sex Pollen, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme prompt: The ladies have an encounter with a monster while exploring the coast and come out of it with some extra passengers. Because every good tentacle monster needs little tentacle monster babies. (Warning for initial non-con, eventual dub-con.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Could Go Wrong?

**Author's Note:**

> Old kinkmeme fill from http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11381.html?thread=48024949#t48024949. Trying to get my whole kinkmeme backlog up on AO3. I was planning on continuing it but never got around to it; I still might eventually. It's...actually a lot less pornographic than I remembered! Maybe because it's shorter than I remembered. If I add to it, I might amp that up some (if you want to see more, let me know if you have any ideas on where to take it in the comments, because I really have no idea). 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated, as always <3

  
Every mission always started with the same question: "What could possibly go wrong?" Scaring off a dragon? Reasoning with Qunari? Retrieving a dwarf's favorite pantaloons? Well, what could go wrong? Usually Hawke was the one to ask it, always with that cocky smile, or sometimes Varric or Isabela, perhaps with a touch more irony but still sincere. And everyone would laugh and nod and off they would go, traipsing towards the next disaster...and then, of course, things always went horribly wrong.   
  
Aveline was starting to think that maybe they should stop asking that question.   
  
Or, well, that's what she  _might_  be thinking if she had the time to think. But she was a little preoccupied by the cloud of what appeared to be dust that had just surrounded them: A thick yellow haze that stuck to her clothes, sweet-smelling and dizzying. Aveline choked and sputtered on the stuff, gagging at the cloying smell, and turned around to glare at the elf behind her.  
  
"So sorry!" Merrill squeaked, coughing and waving the dust away from her face. She had stepped on something—a trap of some sort?—and released the mysterious cloud, which seemed to be expanding around them with every passing moment.   
  
"Some sort of poison?" Isabela wondered. She stuck her tongue out to taste the substance. "It doesn't really taste...poison-y. Sort of nice, actually.”  
  
“Now, Isabela,” Hawke began, smile wry, “that really doesn't seem like the best way to check for poi—”   
  
And then she crumpled, hitting the ground in a heap. Merrill followed a moment later; Isabela swayed for a moment, just long enough to mutter a curse vulgar enough to redden Aveline's cheeks, and then she collapsed.   
  
Aveline barely had time to whisper an "oh, Maker" before her vision went black.   
  
She woke up to darkness and the sensation of warm pressed bodies against hers. The cold, damp stone against her back suggested a cave; the warmth around her suggested that so far, they were all still alive. That was something, at least. She reached out, hand roaming, searching for any familiarity in the darkness—  
  
"Copping a feel, Big Girl? I've been waiting years for this."  
  
"Isabela," Aveline breathed, more relieved than she would ever admit. "What happened? Where are we?"  
  
"Hell if I know." Isabela shrugged; Aveline could feel the shift of her shoulders in the darkness. "But everyone's here. That's definitely Hawke's ass between us, which means that must be Merrill clinging to my other side."  
  
"How do you know that's Hawke's ass?"  
  
"Hawke has the sort of ass you never forget."   
  
Aveline grunted. Without fail, she always regretted asking Isabela questions. But for once, she wasn't in the mood to squabble over it: All she wanted right now was to get out of...wherever they were. And she wanted out immediately. "Well, wake them up so we can leave."  
  
Isabela complied, reaching to shake Hawke, murmuring "hey, sweet thing" with a tenderness that pricked at Aveline's heart. She always found herself unusually fond of Isabela in these dramatic life-or-death moments, the moments when Isabela's guard slipped ever-so-slightly, even if that fondness only lasted until the next obscene quip. Finally, Hawke began to stir, moaning incoherently about a headache; Merrill soon followed her into consciousness.   
  
"Oh, dear," Merrill sighed, sounding absolutely despondent. "This is my fault, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes," Aveline muttered.   
  
"Of course not, Kitten. Don't worry about a thing. We'll be out of here in no time." Isabela leaned in to kiss Merrill's cheek, tossing an affectionate, protective arm over her shoulders. "Everything will be just fine."

"I wish you would stop saying that," Aveline sighed. "Last time you said that, Hawke narrowly avoided being digested by a dragon."  
  
"The key word there is  _avoided,_  Big Girl. C'mere, Hawke. Wake up. Are you alright?"  
  
Hawke shrugged, her profile caught in the dim light. Her hair was matted and when Isabela placed a hand on her cheek, she drew it away bloody. “A bit scraped up,” Hawke said, brushing away Isabela's unspoken concern. “No hungry dragons yet, though! Could be worse.”  
  
Aveline groaned. “Stop saying that! You're trying to get us killed. Maker, 'could be worse.' Let's get out of here before—”  
  
And then, as if on cue, things got worse.  
  
Merrill let out a sudden screech. "There's something on my leg!"  
  
Before anyone had time to respond, they, too, felt the same sensation: Some sort of slick, smooth tendril snaking up their legs and tangling around their ankles. Aveline let out a repulsed grunt and started kicking at the tendril, but it persisted, climbing to wrap around her thigh. When she reached for her sword, she found nothing; it was gone. Before she had a chance to register that fact, a second tendril had wrapped around her other leg and two more had grabbed her by the wrists.   
  
She could hear her friends struggling—Isabela always carried too many hidden knives to count, but the clink of metal on stone and her cry of dismay suggested that her weapons were ripped away from her. They were outmatched, faced by a foe they could not see, and Aveline realized with a bitter pang that they never stood a chance against this enemy. As her vision adjusted to the dark, a grim scene unfolded: Merrill, legs and arms bound tight together by two thick tentacles; Hawke, dangling from another tentacle's grasp, empty swordbelt swinging from her waist; and Isabela, pinned against a wall with one tentacle around her waist and another around her neck—the price of resistance. Yet it didn't appear as if she was struggling to breathe—much—and it occurred to Aveline that perhaps their captor wasn't planning to kill them just yet.  
  
"Stay calm," she cried, somehow managing to keep her fear out of her voice despite her shaking hands. "Whatever it is, it's not trying to kill us. We can find a way out if we remain collected."  
  
"We're prey," Isabela spat, her voice strained by the tightening binds around her throat. "Drugged and captured."  
  
"Maybe it's friendly," Merrill stammered. She spoke waveringly, optimism more than shaky. No one dared believe her.   
  
Hawke laughed a thin, trembling laugh. She sounded distant; Aveline strained to see her but saw only darkness. “Currently accepting any and all suggestions for how to escape the giant tentacle monster. Preferably sooner rather than—oh!”  
  
"Hawke!" Isabela's scream echoed through the room, raw from her fight for breath but unhesitating nonetheless. "What is it? Can anyone see Hawke? I can't fucking—ah! Fuck!"  
  
Aveline started to shout a question, but then she realized what had startled her companions. While they had been talking, the tentacles had slowly wound themselves around her wrists and ankles, spreading her wide and holding her firm, and several others had begun to creep up her thighs. Now, one tentacle pushed against her mouth, testing, searching for the proper spot. Her lips parted almost involuntarily and the tentacle slipped inside, earning a choked gasp. It began to pump slowly, in and out, while the other tendrils continued to explore her body.   
  
It tore off her armor, letting the metal drop into the blackness below with a clang, and then it ripped at her clothing, leaving her bare and exposed. She choked down an instinctive sob at the touch of roaming tentacles across her body. She did this on the battlefield—shut down, turned off the part of her brain that reminded her she was anything more than a weapon—and now it took all her strength to try and numb her mind. There was just enough light in the cave for her to look over and see her companions forced into the same fate. On her left, Merrill was trembling and shaking in the beast's grasp, two tendrils inside her mouth. She looked achingly vulnerable, her pale body exposed and violated, and Aveline's stomach twisted at the knowledge that there was nothing she could do. Her own agony, her own pain—that she could handle. But to watch her friends suffer, unable to help them...that was the worst fate Aveline could imagine.

She turned away from Merrill, no longer able to bear the sight, but her gaze only fell upon Isabela on her other side.   
  
Hawke cried out again from across the room, weak and faint, and Isabela began to kick wildly at the tentacles around her legs, cursing furiously in languages that Aveline didn't recognize. She wanted to cry out, to warn Isabela not to struggle, but the tentacle pumping in her mouth kept her silent. At last the monster seemed to grow weary of Isabela's efforts. Aveline watched with tears pricking at her eyes as the monster slammed Isabela against the wall with a sickening crack. It wrapped a tentacle tight around her neck again, squeezing hard until her mouth fell open, and then a thick tentacle wormed its way down her throat. Two more tentacles jerked her legs apart, dangerously hard and sudden, and then a cluster of tentacles began to roam between her legs. Aveline watched in horror as one pushed inside her, and then a second, and then—  
  
And then Aveline lost all capacity to think about anyone other than herself as the tendril between her legs forced its way inside her. There was a burst of pain followed by an explosion of pleasure. Something about the slime oozing from the tentacle's tip—everywhere it touched, her skin grew more sensitive, all her nerve endings firing as sharp as lightning wherever the beast caressed her. She could feel the sudden sign of her own arousal running down her thighs.   
  
Her head fell back, dazed with pleasure, and once more she found herself confronted by the sight of her companions. Isabela still strained against the monster's grip, but there was nothing she could do now, stretched wide open and pinned against the wall; the monster was fucking her hard and fast, one thick tentacle ramming her ass, two more down her throat, several more between her legs, and others that constantly slithered around her body, hungrily searching for any opening. Aveline watched as the creature spent itself inside of her again and again, until the curve of her belly had begun to swell from its secretions. Nauseous, Aveline turned away.  
  
Merrill was limp in the creature's grasp; she had given up on struggling from the very beginning, and the creature seemed to be rewarding her for that—treating her more gently, responding to her signs of pleasure. The creature was sentient enough to treat the girl with care. It was the smallest of small comforts, and yet it was something. Aveline clung to that even as she watched the monster slide another tentacle into Merrill, plugging the last of her holes. Even in the faint light, Aveline could see Merrill's slender stomach bulging subtly from the tentacles inside her. She choked back the bile rising in her throat.  
  
From across the room, she could hear Hawke babbling unintelligibly, a choking, desperate stream of chatter—never able to shut up, even now. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about what the creature was doing to Hawke. Brave, stupid, selfless Hawke, always the first to come up with some harebrained plan to get them out of whatever trouble she'd first managed to get them into—and now she too had been reduced into a quivering, sobbing mess somewhere in the darkness of the cave.  
  
And then her attention jerked back to her own body and the tentacle inside her as it began to pump faster, swelling inside her. Soon, the creature came with a long shudder, emptying its seed into her in what seemed like an unending stream. The tentacle remained inside of her for a long time, and when at last it was empty, it did not fully withdraw; it remained inside of her, keeping its seed from running down her legs.   
  
That was when she realized what the creature planned.

Time passed in a blur after that. Of course, it wasn't over that easily: The creature still kept them in its grasp, intermittently fucking them until the days shifted into a daze of  _full_ and  _empty_. Isabela fought the longest, too stubborn and too foolish to give in, but at last she too learned how to go limp in the creature's grip, relaxing her muscles and accepting that it would be over soon. And so the creature fucked them again and again, filling their bellies with its seed—one tentacle withdrawing only to be immediately replaced by another, the repeated loads drawing their stomachs taut and then rushing down their thighs when at last the monster withdrew, relishing in their complete defeat.  
  
Before long, there was a noticeable swell to their bellies, and the creature began to treat them differently. At first, it maintained its hold on them, but it was gentler, more conscious of the change within them; at last, once the change became obvious, it deposited them into a small chamber. It would spend long hours tenderly caressing their growing bellies with its tendrils, and it fed them well, pumping some mysterious thick substance down their throats that kept them full and sustained. The days passed in a haze—there was little to do but sleep and wait for the creature to return.  
  
There were hours where it left them alone, but they never quite dared to speak beyond the raw whisper of “are you alright?” and the uncertain mumble that always met the question. Sometimes Merrill would awaken sobbing and Isabela would tug her closer, holding her tight throughout the night. Other times, Isabela would retreat into herself, caught up in a glassy-eyed silence until Hawke would begin to press tender kisses to the bruises on her neck, run her fingers through her tangled hair, and murmur soft promises in her ear. This was as close as they ever came to normalcy—these brief moments when their captor was gone, when they could pretend the world barely existed beyond their chamber and the careful touch of their hands. Aveline watched the way Hawke and Isabela touched each other, always sweet and tender with the other even when they could hardly bear to look at themselves, and she prayed to any god who would listen.  _Please, let someone find us. Save them. They deserve so much more._  
  
They all slept pressed together: Merrill slept snug between Isabela and Hawke and Aveline slept on Isabela's other side, her chest against the other woman's back. The first night, Aveline was stiff and distant, but she slowly began to give herself permission to let her hands roam over Isabela in the night, desperate for even the slightest of human comforts. Isabela never complained, never teased, never so much as commented. One night, without speaking, she caught Aveline's clumsy hand and lightly guided it up from her belly to her breast, silently showing her the right ways to touch a woman. That was the only time she ever reacted to Aveline's roving hand.  
  
Aveline touched her with a hesitant curiosity. It was in part because she had never before touched another woman, but it was mostly because she was afraid to touch herself. She could feel the growing heaviness in her belly, could tell from the way she bumped against the others that she was full and swollen, but she could not bring herself to touch the curve of her stomach without feeling ill. It was easier to touch Isabela and feel for the changes that she was too afraid to acknowledge in herself. She suspected that Isabela sensed her reasons; perhaps that was why she remained silent, never teasing. Whatever the reason, Aveline was infinitely grateful for Isabela's silence. And so she let herself explore Isabela's body, hands roaming over her heavy, swollen breasts and the taut curve of her belly.

Occasionally, she would bump into the others, just enough to develop an image despite the darkness. Merrill's full belly was the most pronounced, vividly obvious on her slender frame. Aveline thought that Isabela was the biggest, though. She had always been curvaceous, but the weight settled on her differently than it did on Hawke or Aveline, both so much taller and broader than Isabela. Her wide hips and strong thighs had begun to soften, hard muscle giving way to gentle curves, and sometimes—Maker save her soul—Aveline felt a traitorous twinge of lust between her legs when she ran her hand over the ever-growing swell of Isabela's belly.  
  
And Maker, she was growing quickly. They had no way to keep track of time, but one thing seemed certain: Whatever was inside of them, it was growing at an unnatural rate. And there must be more than one of whatever  _it_ was. No more than a month could have passed, but their bellies were huge and distended—and still growing. There were days when Aveline would wake up and feel even heavier than the day before; those were the nights where she reached most readily for Isabela, eager to feel the swelling expanse of Isabela's stomach beneath her hands, eager to massage and tease her swollen, aching breasts until she earned those desperate moans that Isabela tried so hard to keep quiet. And as Isabela's belly grew bigger, Aveline only found herself in over her head even more. At this point, all it took was the brush of her fingers over Isabela's dark skin for Aveline to feel the wetness pooling hot between her legs.  
  
But she was trying not to think about that. She was trying not to think about anything. It was easier to keep her mind empty, easier to do anything other than dwell on the hell they were trapped in. Yet it was impossible to forget when the creature always returned, slick tentacles tracing over their full stomachs, tenderly prodding and caressing them. One day, with the creature's tentacles snug around her, Merrill let out a choked sob of a giggle.  
  
“Look at us. We aren't even struggling any more. You're the three bravest people I know and you've all given in so easily. Even Isabela's stopped trying to fight when it comes to feed us. She just obeys until it leaves. How did this happen to us?”  
  
“Kitten,” Isabela began, but her words dissolved into a moan and soon she couldn't manage anything else—a tentacle had begun to press against her lips, apparently testing Merrill's words, and then it slipped inside, slowly beginning to fill her with another meal while she eagerly sucked.  
  
Aveline licked her lips and tried to focus on something other than Isabela's eager, hungry moans and, Maker help her, the thought of Isabela's belly even more swollen than before. This place had turned her into someone she barely recognized; even her own thoughts were turning against her. “Merrill, there was nothing we could do.”  
  
“It's not over yet,” Hawke said, sounding far from certain. She hesitated, reaching out for Isabela, but a tentacle caught her by the wrist and pressed her arm back to her side. “Our friends will find us. They have to. That's how the stories always go.”  
  
Hawke looked at Aveline as if she was expecting confirmation, but Aveline only grunted, too focused on Isabela to respond. The first tentacle had withdrawn and a second had pressed between her lips, languidly fucking her mouth. Aveline's hand started to drift between her legs—as if it could read her mind, a tentacle pushed her hand away and began to rub against her. Aveline let out a heavy moan at the sight of Isabela struggling to swallow the monster's seed; in the same moment, the tentacle pressed between her legs, once again releasing that rapturous aphrodisiac that always mingled pleasure with the pain.   
  
Her own desire crashed over her like a wave. She was caught up in the rush of it, no longer thinking straight, begging for more, more—the names tumbling off her lips as her pleasure exploded around her, _Wesleydonnicisabela, yes, yes,_ one incoherent cry—

And then, all of a sudden, a light fell upon them. Aveline blinked, trying to clear her vision, and then the sight came into focus: Varric, crossbow over his shoulder and lantern in one hand; Fenris, blood splattered across his face and armor; and Anders and Carver, both their faces dark with fury and fear.  
  
Varric's triumphant smile slowly faded into horror as he stared down at them—tentacles still tangled around their naked bodies, the creature's seed leaking from between their legs, their bellies so huge they could barely stand.  
  
“Well, shit,” he said, voice faint. “What happens next?”


End file.
